


Not knowing good men from bad men and villains from heroes

by Naphorism



Series: Wayne, Bruce Wayne [2]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Batman: The Telltale Series (Video Game), James Bond - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - James Bond Fusion, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Angst, Bad Jokes, Betrayal, Bisexual John Doe, Bruce Wayne Has Feelings, Bruce Wayne Has a Heart, Bruce Wayne is Bad at Feelings, Bruce Wayne is Not Batman, Crimes & Criminals, Crying, Double Agents, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Constipation, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Espionage, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, Inspired by James Bond, James Bond References, Jealous John Doe (Telltale), John Doe is a Mess (Telltale), John Doe needs a hug, Kissing, M/M, Mentioned Harleen Quinzel, Mentioned Oswald Cobblepot, Organized Crime, Past Abuse, Playboy Bruce Wayne, Poor John Doe (Telltale), Post-Coital Cuddling, Spies & Secret Agents, it's John his jokes are awful, still an uh oh for you bruce but a little less of an uh oh, telltale harley isn't nice we all know this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:15:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24171907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Naphorism/pseuds/Naphorism
Summary: John’s tone takes on an aggressive undertone as he hisses, “I’m not an idiot, Bruce! You do this all the time.” He does not pick his head up off his knees, and his voice is muffled by the Egyptian cotton of the sheets. “Have you ever asked any of us what it’s like?"
Relationships: John Doe/Bruce Wayne, John Doe/Harleen Quinzel, Joker (DCU)/Bruce Wayne
Series: Wayne, Bruce Wayne [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1744576
Comments: 9
Kudos: 61





	Not knowing good men from bad men and villains from heroes

**Author's Note:**

> Same notes apply to this as apply to _Caught with more than my hands up_ , but here be the emotions.  
> Might kind of make sense without part 1, but both parts are probably more enjoyable together.  
> Title from Casino Royale.

The silence shrouding the hotel room is broken by John mumbling, “The plaza where Vince Parkway and Fourteenth Street meet,” into Bruce’s bare shoulder.

Bruce, who has been enjoying the sensation of John running his fingers idly across his chest, has to think much harder than he will admit in order to focus on John’s words instead of John’s warm breath against his skin. After another moment of silence, Bruce whispers, “Harbinger Square,” in agreement. He looks down at the top of John’s green head, pillowed on his chest. It feels as though speaking too loudly will snap something delicate that has formed in the space they are occupying. When he speaks, it is barely more than his lips moving. “What about it?”

With the distant sounds of other hotel guests and climate control systems, John’s breathing is not very audible. Bruce mostly feels John’s chest expand with a shaky breath where he is pressed into Bruce’s side. “There’s an alley on its East side…” John trails off. His whole body is shaking, the movement vibrating up the arm Bruce has wrapped around him.

Placing his free hand on top the hand John has on his chest, Bruce asks, “Yes?”

John turns his palm up so that he can squeeze Bruce’s hand. “Tomorrow. Eleven o’clock. At night, not the morning. Harley… I mean,” he giggles nervously, “Doctor Quinzel. She’s meeting the Penguin. And some English biomedical engineers. There, in that alley.” His words are hitching on nervous breaths and disjointed from one another, barely forming real sentences through his nervous laughter and clear hesitance to divulge information.

Bruce’s eyebrows shoot upwards, and not only because he is familiar with the mastermind criminal Oswald “Penguin” Cobblepot. He has been in altercations with Cobblepot in the past, but only in joint cases with MI6. Cobblepot rarely crosses the pond or draws up alliances with anyone. The fact that Cobblepot has strayed from his territory in England to step foot in Gotham is more than slightly worrisome, but that is a matter that can be addressed once Bruce has shared his findings with his colleagues. The more pressing matter is John Doe.

According to every assumption Bruce can make based on John Doe’s files, he should not be helping Bruce. His interest lies in continuing to support Doctor Quinzel, who took him in as a nobody and raised him through the ranks of the criminal underworld in exchange for his unwavering obedience and loyalty. She has him eating out of the palm of her hand, and has long since manipulated someone who was once a lonely escaped mental patient into a dangerous weapon. Bruce was hoping that John would let something slip, as was usually the case when he got this intimate with a villain’s personal assistant, not tell him things this blatantly. There has to be a reason he has told Bruce as much as he has.

Bruce pushes himself up onto his forearms, letting go of John’s hand. His movement jostles John’s head off his shoulder. Bruce gazes down at him appraisingly.

Shifting under Bruce’s gaze and looking dazed at the sudden movement, John gazes right back. He slowly sits up and crawls backwards until he can tilt his head back against the headboard with his knees pulled to his chest like a lost child. His eyes are unfocused as he looks at the ceiling. He seems lost in his own world.

“John,” Bruce says gently, moving to lean against the headboard next to John. “Why?” He does not need to elaborate further than that. John understands what he wants an answer to.

John tilts his head forward to rest on his knees. In a small voice he asks, “Have you ever asked any of us what it’s like?” His voice is further muffled by the Egyptian cotton of the sheets.

“Asked any of who what what’s like?” Now it may be Bruce who is lost. He puts a hand on John’s exposed shoulder, pretending that he is still the one in control.

Tensing under Bruce’s hand, John’s tone takes on an aggressive undertone as he hisses, “I’m not an idiot, Bruce! You do this all the time.” He still does not pick his head up off his knees.

Bruce does not need his training to understand that John is hiding tears. He also understands what John thinks he is doing all the time. Ending up with many different people is one of the few advantages of having a job where doing anything you can to get information is necessary. He does have a reputation for going above and beyond the call of duty, though. “I do,” Bruce agrees. He is not going to apologise for the number people he has been with in the past.

Groaning, John lifts his head up with such difficulty that it looks as though his skull weighs a tonne. He blinks red eyes at Bruce, his makeup no more smudged than it had been before he started crying. Bruce supposes Doctor Quinzel can afford to buy John excellent quality cosmetics. “When I said us, I meant all the Pussy Galores of the world.” He sniffs.

Bruce allows that to sink in for a moment. “Are you comparing Doctor Quinzel to Goldfinger?”

As John lets out a hysterical giggle, his shoulders drop some of their tension. “Oh no, I am! It wasn’t on purpose.”

“She would have to be Goldhair,” Bruce suggests, sliding his hand across John’s back until he has wrapped his arm all the way around him.

“Guess that makes me Dick Galore. Or maybe Bussy Galore.” John laughs giddily for a moment before his face resumes a sober frown. “Seriously, though. Have you ever asked anyone what it’s like to be the head honcho’s personal assistant?”

Bruce blinks at the expectant expression on John’s pale face, feeling very out of his depth. He settles on, “I am now,” as an acceptable response.

“It’s not great.” John pouts at his knees. “At the beginning, Harley made me think she loved me. She made me love her.” He laughs. “That’s mad psychiatry for ya.” Then he turns to look at Bruce, staring somewhat uncomfortably into his eyes, and whispers, “We get used, you know? But no one admits it. With people like you, we know we’re being used, and everyone admits it. It’s not as bad. There’s honesty.”

“Oh,” Bruce murmurs inelegantly. “I had no idea—”

John holds a finger to Bruce's lips. “Why would it occur to you? We’re just the bad guys. But I don’t want to be, not anymore.” He grins. “It kind of blows, and not in the fun way you do.”

Bruce looks at John cautiously. He couldbe a triple agent, working for Harley and pretending to be a double agent for Bruce’s sake, but right now that seems unimportant. Bruce brings the arm not already occupied with holding John's shoulders up to John’s face, running his thumb across his sharp cheekbone. “When you told me to call you John earlier I had to remind myself not to fall for someone fighting for the wrong side again,” Bruce says conversationally.

John beams at Bruce, blinding even in comparison to the smiles he has given throughout the rest of the night. He tilts his head into Bruce’s touch.

“Is there anything I can do to help you?”

John Doe looks up at Bruce with eyes that fit his name perfectly. Doe eyes wide, and a smile still lingering on his lips, he demands, “Kiss me.”

Who is Bruce Wayne to deny him?

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos, comments, bookmarks, whatever! I eat that shit up, so if you enjoyed this they're greatly appreciated.


End file.
